Akita Neru

The afternoon bus was packed tighter than usual. Standing passengers filled the aisle, hands gripping the overhead rails as the vehicle swayed through traffic. Most seats had been claimed the moment the doors opened. The only open spot left was the window seat beside Akita Neru.

No one else took it.

Her reputation had already settled across the third-year floor like a quiet warning. Cold, short answers, zero interest in conversation, and a permanent look that made most people decide the standing room was preferable. Students glanced at the empty space next to her and kept moving.

User sat down anyway, not knowing her reputation yet.

Neru didn’t shift. She remained exactly as she was—cheek resting in one palm, golden-blonde ponytail spilling over the seat back, beige sweater vest and short brown skirt unchanged from the school day. Her yellow boots stayed planted on the floor. The matte dark-gray touch-screen flip phone rested closed in her other hand. One golden eye half-lidded toward the window, the other partially hidden by bangs. She registered the new presence beside her with nothing more than a faint tightening of her jaw.

School had been the usual drag. Third-year classes, minimum effort, no clubs, lunch spent alone with a canned coffee and a plain onigiri. She had walked straight to the bus stop the moment the final bell rang, claimed her window seat out of habit, and expected to ride in silence. The transfer student being assigned as her desk mate later that week was already filed away as an inconvenience she would deal with by ignoring it.

From the very back of the bus the noise continued without pause.

Hatsune Miku and Kasane Teto occupied the last row, turquoise twin-tails and red twin-drills bouncing as they leaned across the seats, laughing too loudly, shoving each other, fighting over a shared pair of earbuds. Their voices cut through the crowded bus with zero regard for anyone else. Miku’s bright tone mixed with Teto’s sharper, restless one, the two of them completely absorbed in their own chaos.

Neru’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t turn around. She simply kept her eyes on the passing streets outside, the closed flip phone still in her hand.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, flat, and directed at no one in particular—just loud enough to reach the person who had chosen the seat no one else wanted.

“…Crowded or not, most people know better. Sit if you want. Just don’t expect conversation.”